Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Langley... Langley has been bombed!"

...

Ten minutes ago!

CIA headquarters, at Langley's entrance.

A man in a duckbill cap smoked a cigarette as he sat in a pickup, his eyes gloomy and hesitant, his hand reaching out of the window with a cigarette between his fingers.

The phone on the passenger seat rang, he violently turned his head, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, and hastily picked up the phone.

"Daddy!" a voice cried out in terror from the other end.

"Sneck!" the man quickly shouted back.

But the voice on the other end changed, sounding like a frog, probably voice-altered, "Do as we said, and we'll release your son."

The man clutched the phone tightly, "Don't you lie to me! Otherwise, I'll make sure you die a gruesome death!"

The person on the other end didn't even snicker, just hung up the phone directly.

Grinding his teeth, he started the vehicle and drove towards the CIA headquarters; painted on his truck was: XXX Milk.

In the back of the pickup were boxes.

The man could hear his own heartbeat, thump! thump! thump!

He honked the horn at the guard post, two security guards came out, he leaned out and waved with a smile.

"Brick, what brings you here?"

"Delivering milk, here's the invoice." The man laughed as he handed over the stamped invoice; the guard took it, glanced at it, and offhandedly asked, "Isn't milk usually delivered in the morning? Why are you delivering it in the afternoon too?"

"I don't know, I'm just the delivery guy, hahaha."

"Alright then, go on in. You know the rules, don't wander off; otherwise, if you get caught, you won't be delivering milk anymore." The guard jokingly said.

Brick waited for the barrier to be raised, then floored the accelerator and charged in.

"Strange, he's acting really weird today…" said one short security guard.

"Who cares, the redneck's brains are all a bit off anyway."

As Brick watched the pickup truck drive straight into the CIA headquarters, he didn't notice that in a small house by the Potomac River, a pair of eyes was watching him through binoculars. Experience new stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Upon seeing the pickup truck enter, he slightly smirked, picked up a remote control from the window sill, and pressed the red button in the middle.

Boom! Bang! Bang!!!

A massive explosion soared into the sky, thick plumes of black smoke rising, momentarily shaking the whole of Langley.

"Holy shit!!!" The man excitedly swung his arm, then turned his head with a flourish and danced by a tied-up, blindfolded child, patted the kid's head, and walked out of the house.

He pulled a grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin, and tossed it back into the house, covering his ears as he ran!

Bang, the building was obliterated in an explosion.

At that moment, alarms blared in Langley, the place teeming with panicked people and armed personnel.

The pickup truck was blown to pieces, engulfed in raging flames, while windows and doors on either side were shattered by the blast, and over twenty CIA employees lay on the ground, dismembered.

"Mr. Steven! Mr. Steven! Quick, call an ambulance!!" A black woman wearing a short black skirt and her hair in a bun knelt beside a man and shook him. Seeing no response, she panicked and screamed in horror.

At that time, CIA Director Richard James Curl was in his office, coincidentally, the pickup exploded right as it passed below, a steel plate flying up and shattering the window.

He slumped to the ground, eyes wide, staring at the thick smoke outside in terror!

Security personnel immediately rushed in, anxiously looking at him, "Sir, are you hurt?"

Seeing Richard James Curl shake his head, they instantly relieved, helped him up, "We should leave now."

A group escorted him through the emergency exit.

As he descended, he heard cries up ahead, glanced over, and recognized a familiar figure amid the fallen people—his senior assistant and trusted secretary Steven, who was now lying motionless.

The Director hesitated for a moment, then followed the security personnel to evacuate.

He couldn't afford to die here.

He still had higher ranks to climb. If Old Bush could be president, so could he.

So...

A ridiculous scene unfolded.

Following the explosion, not a single person stepped up to take charge.

The CIA... truly a mess in management.

It wasn't until the FBI, notified of the emergency, arrived and took control of the scene that order was restored, led by none other than Floyd I. Clark, the current FBI Director.

When he heard about the terrorist attack on the CIA, he almost laughed, personally leading the team. As he stepped out of the car, he looked for his old nemesis but couldn't find him, then put his hands on his hips and said loudly, with an air of indignation, "Richard is a real failure, running off first at the sign of trouble."

His words made many CIA employees grimace, but they could not retort and simply hung their heads.

Honestly, who could have expected this.

Since the CIA moved to Langley, there had never been an attack on its homeland headquarters; hadn't been heard of for decades. The last comparable event dates back to World War II, and that was Pearl Harbor.

Richard James Curl: I've never seen anything like it either.

You expect overseas CIA outposts to be bombed as a matter of course, but this is the United States.

This is a terrorist attack, isn't it? This is a terrorist attack!

Floyd I. Clark looked around proudly and asked his deputy, "Have we identified the perpetrator?"

"Sneck Cohen, 31 years old, former Marine Corps member. After retiring, he worked for the CIA, mostly overseas. Six months ago he resigned and became a full-time milk delivery man, unmarried, with one son."

FBI—efficiency is undeniable.

Floyd I. Clark rubbed his bald head, frowning, "A retired CIA operative bombed CIA headquarters?"

"Did Richard fail to pay him his salary?"

"Or did Richard fool around with someone's wife again?"

...